


Whatever Gets You Through

by perclexed



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emo Like Hathaway, Episode Related, Episode: s09e03-04 Magnum Opus Parts 1-2, F/F, F/M, Light BDSM, Multi, OT3, Unrequited Love, author worries about the state of hathaway's liver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perclexed/pseuds/perclexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James drinks. And thinks. And dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever Gets You Through

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to owlbsurfinbird for a superfast beta! My apologies for anything I may have missed from a Britpicking perspective.
> 
> And to Medie, for once again invoking her version of 'triple dog dare ya' in "DO EET!"

Hathaway hadn’t stayed long at the club after Nate Hedesan pulled his vanishing act. James had coaxed Lizzie back inside for that drink, and even if it was ever so slightly awkward because of the nature of the club, they’d talked through a couple of items on the case and set a plan for the morning’s work. 

It had also given him an excuse to look around a bit, and satisfy his curiosity. Nearly everyone there looked like an ordinary punter, though perhaps wearing a few more accessories relevant to the nature of the club. Another bonus was that it was too late to return Nell’s call, and he wouldn’t even have to lie about work preventing him from getting back to her.

It didn’t take long for he and Lizzie to come to a consensus, and James sent her off home. Maybe one of them could get a full night’s sleep for once. He made his way back to his own flat, sighing as the sound of the closing door echoed loudly in the nearly empty flat. His jacket went over the back of the couch again, and he set his phone and keys on the coffee table, next to one of the bottles. The coffee table had whisky. The wine was on the desk.

Hooking a clean glass with a finger, he reaches for the bottle and idly considers how horrified Robbie and Laura would be, knowing he’s fallen far enough to just leave a set of clean glasses on the table. So he wouldn’t have to bother getting up when in the middle of reading background for a case. Any case. Tonight’s was just another in a series of long nights filled with murder, somewhat intellectually stimulating intrigue and the horrible reality of trawling through the twisted minds of some of the worst examples of humanity he’s ever had the misfortune to encounter.

And he knows that such action should be ringing all kinds of alarm bells, but as he’d told Laura one day long ago, “Whatever gets you through.”

He finishes his first drink quickly, and sighs heavily as he sets the glass back down on the table just long enough to refill it. Toeing off his shoes, he swings his legs up onto the couch, relaxing into the cushions and smiling ever so faintly at having furniture adequate for stretching out his legs to their full length. It feels quite luxurious, though practicality more than anything drove him to such an extravagant purchase. He’s fallen asleep a few too many times in the living room, instead of his bed, after more whisky than was truly wise. Might as well be as comfortable as possible.

He still misses Robbie’s couch though, he muses, downing another healthy swallow and resting the glass on his stomach. No matter that he’d needed to fold himself up like a pretzel most nights in order to sleep on it. The comfort of being somewhere that actually felt like home far outweighed the physical nuisance. He would have endured far worse for much less.

Of course all that had ended after he’d turned his back for five minutes and lost his place to the lovely Laura.  
He’s not even bitter about it anymore. Not really. The time away had helped, a bit, and as irritating as it had been at the time, he was thankful that Jean had stepped in and brought Robbie back to help him pull his head out of his arse those first months as an Inspector.

And things are good now. Better than he could have hoped for, really. And if that required regular infusions of the finest distilled beverages made from fermented grain mash to maintain, well.

Whatever gets you through.

James raises his glass in a salute to no one in particular, or possibly to his finely honed sense of self-pity, and downs what remains in two swallows. Carelessly discarding the glass on the tabletop, he can hear it tip over and roll across the surface, falling to the floorboards on the other side. He sighs at himself, but he’s far too comfortable to get up now. Perhaps he’ll close his eyes for just a moment before he goes back to his books, refreshing his knowledge of Williams before the sun comes up and his work day begins anew.

Tucking his hands behind his head, he allows himself to sink into the warm embrace of the alcohol coursing through his blood. Just a few moments of rest couldn’t hurt. 

_...He can hear the thin slap of the crop against a palm as Lizzie passes it to Robbie, who’s got his hand in James’ hair as he kneels, naked at Laura’s feet. He can’t take his eyes off the collar dangling from her hand as she talks over his head to the other two._

_“Not sure if he deserves it, the way he’s acting lately. You should see the way he’s treating the new CS at work, Laura.” Robbie’s hands go from soothing pats to clenching in a heartbeat, and he uses the leverage to force James’ head back so his eyes meet Robbie’s. “I know you’re in a right state over your dad, but that’s no excuse, James.”_

_Tears spring to his eyes, and if he’s honest with himself, it’s not the pain from having his hair pulled so hard, but from the shame he can feel spearing his heart at the disappointment in Robbie’s eyes._

_“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.” His eyes close in horror at letting the last bit slip out. He thought he’d been covering his panic at the idea of losing both Laura and Robbie to the other side of the world for six months._

_“Ahh, so this IS about New Zealand. I had wondered.” Laura reaches out and trails the fingers of the hand holding that beautiful collar down the side of his face. A light slap has him opening his eyes, forcing himself to look up into the kind and knowing face peering down at him. “You silly sausage. Did you really think we’d leave you here on your own for that long? Of course you’re coming with us. For as long as you can get away from work.”_

_“And Lizzie will be here to keep you grounded when you can’t get away,” Robbie says, fingers gentle against his scalp once more._

_“Aye,” she says from behind him. “Tony and I will be here for you. Not like this, obviously. I’ve got me hands plenty full with Tones. But you’ll be coming ‘round for actual food regularly, to supplement your usual diet of Scotland’s finest. And you’ll do it, because if you don’t, you’ll make a liar out of me, and I’m pretty sure these two won’t have that.”_

_Robbie’s face goes as dark as a thundercloud. “No. No, we won’t. On your feet, lad. Laura, the table, I think.”_

_She must agree with Robbie because she moves away, taking the collar with her and James can’t help whimpering a bit in disappointment. When he’s wearing that, he can finally relax. He doesn’t have to be in charge, he’s not expected to be the smartest man in the room, and choices are limited. He never, ever, would have thought that he’d be able to have that dream come true, but Robbie and Laura had invited him over to dinner one night, where one thing had led to another, and before he’d quite known how, he was theirs._

_It’s bliss on so many levels, wearing that supple leather band around his throat, the small studs spelling out “Ours” on the inside pressing against his pulse on both sides. Reminding him with every breath, every swallow, every vocalization that he was theirs. Knowing he was safe, cared for and loved by the two people he loved the most… he’s never wanted anything more, and can’t believe this wish came true._

_Coherent thought faded soon after though, bent over as he is, face buried between Laura’s thighs, her moans of approval and his struggle not to embarrass himself by coming untouched, competing for attention with the hot sting of the crop against his arse and the tenderest part of his upper thighs as Robbie reminds him, quite vigorously, that common courtesy costs nothing._

_Zoe Kenneth had talked about giving herself up to ‘the cleansing fire’, but James prefers the lick of heat provided by a sturdy bit of leather or a cane over actual flame._

_Laura comes twice before she pushes his face away, sliding back just enough for him to rest his head against her inner thigh, panting with the effort of keeping his orgasm at bay and quivering with the need for release, face slick with her juices and the tears he can’t prevent falling from eyes squeezed tightly shut._

_He can’t help the loud moan that escapes him as Robbie sets aside the crop but finishes with a brief caress of his hand over hot, reddened skin, following it up with a single sharp smack with his bare palm._

_“Shhh, lad. I’m done. You’re all right,” Robbie murmurs as he cradles James’ face in his hands, thumbs wiping away the tears. "Look at you. You took that so beautifully. My canny lad.”_

_James can’t help the needy whine that escapes as he feels the leather encircle his throat, the lead a welcome weight next to his shoulder, and he goes limp against the table in relief. He concentrates on the feel of the leather, the scent of Laura surrounding him, her hand in his hair, and the feeling of Robbie’s hand stroking possessively over his skin. He can hear Lizzie’s low tones, warm and full of comfort, and the sound of a flannel being run under warm water in the kitchen. “I brought over a bit of that gel I use with Tony. It’s in my backpack. One sec and I’ll grab it for you.”_

_“Come on over to the couch and we’ll get you cleaned up,” Robbie murmurs against his temple. James, still trembling, straightens up from his position, wincing as the skin on his chest seems to want to stick to the table. He’s sweating heavily, and he’s so hard his cock is standing up against his belly and leaking. And he can’t prevent the blush when he hears an approving low whistle from Lizzie’s direction as she returns to the room, but he’s on his own feet and moving._

_He leans heavily against Robbie, who supports him the few steps over to the couch. They pause, Robbie holding him close as he tenderly raises a glass of water to James’ lips. And once the water is gone, helps him first kneel on the soft surface of the couch, then stretch out so his abused bum can be tended to. He’s so relieved to be lying down that he doesn’t even mind the fact that the lead is trapped under his chest, his own weight pinning it and pulling the collar against his neck a bit._

_He’s been so hard for so long, and the feeling of warm water trickling into his crack and down over his balls makes him squirm. And then he inhales sharpl at the feeling of his erection catching against the fabric of the couch. The snap of the cap on the warmed bottle of gel as it’s opened makes him shudder with anticipation, and he gasps at the feeling of strong, blunt fingers easing between the cheeks of his arse. It feels too good, and he can’t help grinding into the sensation over and over again to the rhythm of the bass booming from a car stereo driving by outside. He’s so close! Just a little more…._

_His euphoria is short lived as the sound of his phone’s ringtone goes off right near his ear and shatters the blissful moment._

James starts awake, hips still moving, grinding into the cushion below him. He inhales sharply, disoriented and hating the cheerfully artificial sound emanating from the coffee table. 

For one endless moment he wants to put his head back down and cry. Just a dream. It was all just a dream. That dream. Again. It’s not a lead and collar around his throat, just his tie from yesterday’s suit trying to strangle him in his sleep.

His molars creak in protest as he grinds his teeth in impotent rage, head pounding to the remembered beat of the music from last night’s club visit. Cock pounding insistently with the need for release. 

A beat more, and he shakes off his desire to tell the world to fuck right off, and he reaches for the phone still ringing away. Manages to listen without wincing too badly at the voice relating the barest details and location of another murder scene.

Well. That’s one way to get rid of an erection.

On the plus side, he muses as he disconnects, pushes himself up and clumsily leaps over the mess at the end of the couch: at least he won’t need to launder the couch cushion cover. Again. 

For now, there’s paracetamol and enough water to drown a camel before he leaves, and he can pick up a couple of strong coffees on the way to the scene.

Just another glorious day amidst the dreaming spires.

**Author's Note:**

> First there was [this post](http://perclexed.tumblr.com/post/131649786993/aintyousomthin-beccaoftheglen), and then there was a twitter exchange (I mused to medie that he’s probably so grumpy because he was dreaming, and contents of said dream had him grinding into the couch before the sound of the phone woke him up), and a plot bunny was born and raised and released into the wild, all on the same evening.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. :) I had rather a lot of fun writing it.


End file.
